


New

by thepocketdragon



Series: Sing to me Instead [7]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, bechloe - Freeform, kiss, pp3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28270464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepocketdragon/pseuds/thepocketdragon
Summary: Time was running out, then, and she couldn’t bear it a moment longer. And now she’s here. In bed. With Chloe. She’s here and she’s got a feeling rushing through her and she knows everything has changed. Everything feels new.Or, the Bechloe kiss (and what happened after) dragged out into a 5k one shot.Based on the leaked video, so set during PP3.
Relationships: Chloe Beale & Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Series: Sing to me Instead [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021515
Comments: 10
Kudos: 59





	New

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the 'Sing to me Instead' series, in which I listen to a song from Ben Platt's first album, think about Beca and Chloe being two idiots in love and write whatever comes into my head. 
> 
> In this case, I was inspired more by the tone of 'New' than its lyrics; I liked the sense of euphoria and thought about how that best translated into a Bechloe scenario... and voila!
> 
> Comments are always welcome.

It takes a moment before it all comes rushing back.

The memories flood her head, frame by frame in slow-motion, yet also somehow too quick. Against the stark white of hotel bed linen, the colourful spectrum of every image is bright. Bright and full of electric energy.

Much like Beca herself.

It’s an energy that she can’t place within her body. Anticipation usually sits low in her gut, nerves in her throat, excitement in her hands. This feeling? It’s brand new. It’s everywhere. It’s everything.

If she’d have known this feeling was what she could have expected after finally, _finally,_ finding the courage within herself to step over the invisible line and finally, _finally,_ taking Chloe by the hand and pulling her into a kiss she isn’t sure she will ever be able to surpass, she would have done it a long time ago.

Still, it felt like the right thing to do.

Time was running out, then, and she couldn’t bear it a moment longer.

And now she’s here. In bed. With Chloe.

She’s here and she’s got a feeling rushing through her and she knows everything has changed.

Everything feels new.

New chapter. New job. New honesty.

She could have done it a long time ago. They both could have, at any point, finally spoken out loud the words that had lingered around them for years. They could have, but they didn’t.

Beca decides that there was a reason for that.

There’s something special about now.

About change.

About Chloe.

It feels different, new, but it’s not scary. It feels right. Like it was always meant to be this way.

Although, Beca thinks with a smile, she’s always known that.

She just needed to wait for the right moment.

Chloe slowly blinks, adjusting to the light pouring through the thin curtains as she takes stock of her situation and pulls the loose sheet up higher over her bare chest. Beca can’t help her grin as blue eyes finally land on her. “Hi,” Chloe’s tongue pokes out to lick at her lips, “good morning.”

“Good morning.” There’s a lingering confidence to her tone, Beca realises as she speaks. A residual boldness that has grown from the determination and drive powering her every decision and every move the previous night.There’s a laughter, then. Light and airy. “Well,” she says with a shy smile, “this is new.”

///

Beca had felt as if there had been change in the air for the whole weekend. It had started with the very weird discussion she had been pulled into with DJ Khaled and Theo. From there, things had grown progressively more strange.

Beca had felt a little lost during all of it. She had purposely avoided existential questions, pondering on her identity as an ‘artist’, or even as a person, as much as she could for her entire adult life. Suddenly, there was change in the air and people were wanting to know her. The real her.Beca was left with no choice but to confront it. To begin to ask, even in whispers, who it was she truly wanted to be.

There had been a voice, then, at the back of her head. It had been quiet and Beca had tried her best to ignore what it was saying. Still, as soon as she left that meeting and headed back to the hotel room, there was no denying that it was Chloe she was searching for. That, even as she became this re-developed, new version of herself, she wanted Chloe to stay exactly where she was: by her side.

That yearning, the pull towards Chloe, had only grown stronger once they had been put in actual danger. That was the point it became undeniable. She had realised, as they had finally escaped from the yacht and found themselves wrapped in blankets, that she had been more fearful for Chloe’s life than she had been for her own. It had hit her hard, once the shock had worn off, that one singe thought had been at the forefront of her mind. The notion that, if it had come down to it, she would have died for Chloe. To save Chloe. It broke something within her, some last resolve, when she realised they had been terrifyingly close to that being a possibility. They had almost lost one another. They had almost run out of time.

If anything was going to happen, it had to be now.

She hadn’t expected Chloe to have come to the same conclusion, but to choose him instead of her.

She hadn’t expected that Chloe wouldn’t realise she had a choice. That her words hadn’t been enough.

She hadn’t expected the surge of confidence to come when it did.

She had, for a moment, resigned herself to the fact she was too late.

She hadn’t expected to do what she did.

Clearly, Chloe hadn’t either.

But this Beca Mitchell, the new and improved, honest, life-is-too-short, we-almost-got-blown-up, taking-my-chance Beca Mitchell, was sick of waiting on the sidelines.

And so, with a strange new feeling pumping through her veins, she had strutted (yes, that is the word she would use) towards Chloe, flinging Theo a short, sideways glance and a smug smile. The words “I’ve got to go show this guy how it’s done” lingered in the air as if they somehow explained what was about to happen.

They didn’t.

Not really.

But the words she had used before, the words she had sung on stage as she finally stood alone, stripped from the protective armour of the army of girls she had surrounded herself with for so many years, had been her message. Her admission, after all this time, that there was something deep within her that she needed Chloe to know. That she had something to tell her. That she wasn’t going to give her up, even if everything- her whole world- was about to change.

The words she had chosen should have been enough, Beca had thought, for Chloe to finally see.

Maybe, in hindsight, she should have been more forward.

Maybe she should have spelled it out in another way.

Maybe she should have just kissed her then, once the song had ended.

Maybe that would have prevented her from having to witness what was happening in front of her.

Maybe, then, she wouldn’t have reached the point of no return, stretching out and literally taking Chloe in her arms, pulling her off of Captain what’s-his-face and capturing her lips in a bruising, desperate kiss without a word of explanation or warning.

Still, as Beca felt the sparks between them, the electricity building as they finally, _finally,_ leaned into this passionate embrace they have been heading towards for far too long, she knew time was on her side. That everything happens for a reason. That it had to be her who took that first step.

To be the one to break the invisible barrier, reach out and grasp.

To be the one to spark the flame.

To be the one to admit that actions speak louder than words and, finally, _finally,_ just kiss her.

She could deal with the consequences later.

With this new feeling rushing through her; Beca Mitchell was fairly certain she could deal with anything.

///

_It’s finally happening._

Everything around her, around them, seemed to go silent as Chloe processed the sensation of Beca’s lips moving purposefully against hers. She look a short breath in through her nose as she leaned in, letting Beca’s desperately clutching hands and the rapid pace of her kisses tell her everything she needed to know. The worry, buried deep, that this unusually passionate, impulsive move Beca had pulled was somehow _not_ what she hoped it was was quickly allayed. It only took a second for Chloe to realise that, with her kiss, Beca was trying to say everything she never had before. Not so obviously, anyway.

It was a kiss that said ‘I want you’.

A kiss that said ‘you’re mine’.

A kiss that said ‘I’m sick of waiting’.

There was an honesty to Beca’s surge forwards, hand brushing over her hair. It was quick and messy and desperate and- Chloe knew- Beca was acting purely on her base urges. She wasn’t hiding behind any line or any lie; this was the Beca Mitchell only a few people were ever lucky enough to meet. This was the Beca Mitchell that Chloe had fallen in love with. The person she had fought for, the person she had believed in and championed. The person she had _seen_ that first day across the quad.

It could only have been seconds, but it felt longer in Chloe’s mind as she processed each and every sign that, yes, this was happening. Finally, _finally,_ happening. As the truth bubbled to the surface and burst out of Beca, Chloe felt herself relax into the embrace. It was exciting to her, the idea that it was Beca who was the one to step over their invisible line, to take control of the situation in her own way and stake her claim. She couldn’t help the rush that came over her body as she registered just how desperately passionate Beca’s kiss was; how much truth and feeling and _love_ was pouring out of her in that moment.

It was that knowledge, that new knowledge that this Beca- the one version of the girl she had always loved more than any other- wanted her enough to make a choice, to publicly pull her into her arms and kiss her like she really meant it that forced her to switch gears in her head. It was as if something within her suddenly clicked that this was _actually happening._ Beca was flush against her, kissing her with every ounce of passion she had. The weight she had carried within her, holding her down, was gone. The ‘what if’ and the ‘I can’t’ and the ‘don’t ruin it’ thoughts suddenly vanished; the empty space they left was open and ready to be filled with something brand new.

Something like this.

Chloe’s instincts pulled her even closer to Beca, fingers pressing against her jacket. Her hand, without hesitation, grasped at the back of Beca’s thigh, lifting her leg until it was half-wrapped around her hip. The shift was palpable as Chloe felt Beca lean into her, letting her take the lead. It was freeing, Chloe realised, to no longer have to question herself, to be able to let herself move and touch and feel and- most of all- enjoy it. It was the final truth she had uncovered, the final layer she had been hiding (mainly unsuccessfully) from her best friend.

Breathing into their kiss, letting herself press even closer, feeling every inch of Beca’s warm body against her own, Chloe opened her eyes, wanting to know what this moment looked like on Beca’s face.

Beca’s eye were dark.

Her skin was flushed.

There was a wry tilt to the way she smiled.

Most of all, Chloe realised, there was an honesty between them. A new knowledge. A new admission. A new, uncovered truth.

_I want this. I want you to be mine. I can’t hide anymore._

Beca’s eyes said it all. Chloe was sure hers were the same. She couldn’t help but laugh as it finally dawned on her exactly what this shift meant. Leaning into Beca, she grinned at the sensation of fingers lacing with hers, her hand being squeezed. There were no words in Chloe’s head. Nothing but Beca. Nothing but the sensation of being calm and strangely settled, underneath the bubbling excitement and anticipation.

It wasn’t a feeling Chloe was used to, nor was it one she had been expecting.

Maybe it was because it had all happened so quickly, she thought.

  
Maybe it was because it had been such a surprise.

Or, maybe, it was because it was Beca.

Because it felt right.

Because she could finally, honestly, truthfully admit that the last ten seconds had been something she had dreamed of every day since they had first become friends.

Maybe that explained why this feeling, the odd mixture of serenity and charged exhilaration, was so different to anything she had ever experienced before.

Why it felt as if she’d never been kissed like this before.

As always, Chloe knew the answer was Beca Mitchell.

There was simply a new freedom, now, to how easy it was to admit it out loud.

///

It was almost euphoric, Beca realised, to bask in the sensation that washed over her. It was as if a puzzle piece had been slotted into place and- just like that- she could see the picture she was always meant to see.

It made sense.

As their hands clasped together and they began to run away from the courtyard and towards the quiet safety of the hotel room, Beca realised just how much of herself she was leaving behind on that stone floor, between candle-lit pillars.

Her fear. Her doubt. The final remnants of the walls Chloe had singlehandedly pushed through all those years ago.

She didn’t need any of it anymore; not now she had Chloe Beale. Not now she had finally, _finally,_ stepped over the unspoken threshold and- without much hesitation at all- poured every ounce of her feelings into a kiss neither of them would ever forget.

Part of her wondered if she looked different. If there was a ‘before’ and ‘after’ image that sold the incredible ‘Chloe Beale effect’ in some kind of weird advertising campaign. It would explain why Chloe was looking at her with such a strange, searching expression on her face. As they approached the elevator and the doors opened, Beca glanced up in the mirror.

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to see. From the way her body pulsed, sending an intoxicating bliss to every extremity, she had been expecting something _more._ Something _different._ Instead, as she had caught a glimpse of her face, she was shocked at what she saw.

It was just her. Just Beca.

But happy.

So, so happy.

“You’re beautiful”. It was the first thing either of them had uttered to one another since before everything had changed. The quiet between them had been unusual, but not uncomfortable. There was a charge between them, as if one spark could cause an explosion. They both seemed to know they were teetering on the edge, on the precipice of falling together into something more. Something new. They had both seemed to realise that- once they spoke it out loud- the reality would be the catalyst that finally pushed them off the cliff edge.

Chloe’s soft smile, the way her eyes creased as Beca watched her reflection in the mirror, made her want to turn on her heel and pull her close. It was an urge she recognised; one she had pushed down, deeper and deeper, hundreds of times. There was a brief moment before it dawned on her that she could; that the pushing away and hiding and pretending to forget how attracted she was to her best friend was simply another layer she could shed and leave behind in this ridiculously slow-moving elevator.

“I…” she wasn’t sure why she began to talk. Beca had no idea what she was about to say. Closing her mouth, she shook her head and turned, pulling Chloe by the hand until she was close enough. Until Beca could tilt her head and press her lips softly against her best friend’s.

“Beca.”

The way Chloe said her name was so unlike anything Beca had heard before. It was halfway between a whisper and a song and it echoed in her ears. In her head. The hypnotic cadence had her surging forwards, her new-found confidence driving her hands upwards, closer and closer, as she relaxed into the kiss and let herself brush a thumb against Chloe’s jawline.

The elevator doors opened and, for a second, Beca had no idea what to do.

It was Chloe who took her hand and led her to the door of her hotel room.

  
It was Chloe who reached into her back pocket and pulled out a key card.

It was Chloe who closed the door behind them, immediately stepping into Beca’s space and leaning into a heated kiss.

“How… how long?” Chloe’s lips were plump, slightly pinker than they had been. Beca couldn’t take her eyes off them. “How long have you wanted this?”

Beca knew her words were slowly dissipating, her mind consumed only with thoughts of Chloe. Still, she gave an answer. “Too long, Chlo. Too long.”

The air between them was different, Beca realised. There had always been a kind of unmentioned charge, an invisible energy, when they were alone. There had been moments, so many moments, when she had thought about pushing through it and experimentally seeing what might happen if- for example- she didn’t let go of her hand when someone walked into the room or if her friendly kiss had happened to land on her lips instead of her cheek when she said goodbye. With the electricity amplified, almost palpably pulsing in the shrinking distance between them, it was Chloe who met her gaze and spoke, in a voice Beca had never heard before, words she would never forget.

“I want you, Beca. All of you. Is… is that…?”

There were only a handful of words left in Beca’s head. Slowly, she licked her lips, looking into Chloe’s dark, searching eyes. “Yes.”

A hand pulled her away from the vanity and towards the large bed. They both fell, landing on soft sheets, and rolled closer to one another. Chloe’s hand found her hip. Beca’s lips found her neck, kissing a trail across her warm skin until they once again made contact with Chloe’s waiting mouth, pulling a desperate whimper from the redhead.

The effect on Beca was immediate. She couldn’t deny that she had dreamed, literally on some occasions, of the sounds Chloe would make if they ever (finally, _finally_ ) got to this place. She had imagined soft breaths and quiet mewls being pulled from her lips. She had imagined the whispering of words, close enough to tickle her earlobe. She had felt the effect that even her imagined version of those sounds could have on her body. Now, though, it was real.

She had never imagined that the urge to explore these new sounds would feel like music. She had never expected to be drawn in, to want to grasp and hold and press and _touch_ every inch of her body purely to find out what the sound was that accompanied Chloe’s reaction. She should have realised. After all, Chloe _was_ music. That was one of the reasons she had been so drawn to her in the first place. Chloe was music and now a symphony Beca had only ever dreamt of composing was falling from her lips. Every brush of her curious, wandering hands conjured up a new harmony. It was a song that swelled, building a rising crescendo that promised to leave them both entirely breathless and full of awe.

As Beca pulled back, watching Chloe for a moment as the redhead’s eyes slowly opened to meet hers, she let her thumb brush against the bare skin of Chloe’s hip where her top had ridden upwards. Experimentally, she pushed the fabric up, fingers delicately tracing along the expanse it revealed.

“Can I?”

Chloe swallowed thickly. Beca watched her glance down at where her hand was, registering what she was asking.

A tongue brushed against her lips as Chloe sat up slightly. Meeting Beca’s gaze, she looked intensely at her, pupils dark and skin flushed.

“Take… take it off, Beca.”

Beca was certain she had never _felt_ words before. Not like this.

It was a brand new sensation, one she was already quickly becoming desperate to feel again.

“Come here.”

///

There had been times when Chloe had bitterly regretted stepping into Beca’s shower during her freshman year. Of course, the benefits had hugely outweighed negatives and her impulsivity had been rewarded time and again in the years since because Beca was immensely talented. Still, the event had left Chloe with an imprint on her brain; the inescapable memory of exactly what Beca Mitchell looked like nude. She had gifted herself with the knowledge that, underneath the tank tops and the plaid, Beca was _hot._ Unforgettably, torturously hot.

It had been impossible to ignore that fact completely; there was always some remnant of that memory lingering in the recesses of Chloe’s mind. It had been impossible for her not to blush each and every time they had to change in the same room, each time they caught one another’s eye, the space between them filled with the knowledge that they _knew_ what was hiding underneath. It had been impossible to stop herself from thinking about that moment every time she heard even the opening bars of ‘Titanium’. It had been impossible to stop her wandering, curious mind from questioning what it would have felt like to reach out and touch her; what her skin would have felt like under her fingers if they had been granted more privacy, or more courage, back in that Baker Hall communal shower.

As Beca lifted Chloe’s top over her arms and dropped it casually to the ground beside the bed, Chloe knew she could no longer resist the urge. Leaning forwards, she tugged out the hem of the brunette’s shirt from her waistband and pushed it upwards, palms gently grazing against the soft skin of her abdomen. She felt Beca shiver at the new contact and looked up, gazing into her eyes as she carefully manoeuvred the garment over her chest.

Anticipation built within Chloe as Beca crossed her arms and dragged her top over her head. She had seen her best friend, roommate, bedmate, in her underwear countless times but never like this. Never before had there been an acknowledgement- an expectation, even- that she could look. That she could, finally, reach forwards and let her fingers dance over Beca’s body. That she would, finally, get to feel Beca’s delicate touch against her own skin.

Beca’s hands were bolder than Chloe had expected. Lips found hers once more as both of them began to explore. It struck Chloe, then, that she had no plan; no idea where to put her hands. She sighed into Beca’s kiss as she realised that she, too, seemed to want to be everywhere at once. The fingers she had watched as they masterfully mixed songs and wove melodies together were pulling gasps and shivers from her as they roved over her skin. Chloe couldn’t help but lean forwards, couldn’t help but silently communicate how desperate she was to feel _more._

When Beca’s fingers met in the centre of her back and began to tug at the clasp of Chloe’s bra, she couldn’t help but think that she had got the message. As the garment was pulled away from her body, the cool air rushing over her newly-exposed skin, the sudden pressure of Beca’s hand as it held and squeezed and rubbed pulled a guttural moan from her lips.

There was a new urge within Chloe, then. A new desire to feel every part of Beca’s body against her. Fingers made light work of her bra, discarding it behind her as she pulled Beca close until their chests were pressed against one another. As their kisses became messy, hands roaming over bare skin, Chloe felt Beca began to rock into her.

“Fuck.”

Beca’s skirt had ridden up. Chloe’s hands reached out, pulling the smaller woman on top of her as she moved onto her back. Her fingers landed on Beca’s thighs, pushing the offering garment higher and higher until it was around her waist; until Chloe’s fingers brushed against Beca’s hip and found a line of delicate lace.

“Chlo, I…”

There was a desperation to Beca’s tone, to the way she let Chloe’s name fall unbidden from her lips as she let her eyes fall closed and her head tilt back.

“Please.”

Chloe couldn’t help but wish she had known that this image, every sensation that went with it, was in her future when she had spent countless nights trying to forget Beca. She couldn’t help but wish that she had known Beca would be hers, like this, one day when she had watched her launch herself off the stage at Lincoln Center as a naive freshman and kiss someone that wasn’t her.

It felt strange to know that it was finally, _finally,_ real.

As she felt Beca’s rhythmic breath hot against her neck, a pleading whine on her lips as her hand began its descent down her body, Chloe had realised just how quickly everything was changing.

For once in her life, she wasn’t scared. She wasn’t afraid to step into the next, new chapter. She wasn’t apprehensive about the unexpected or the unmentioned or the prospect of not knowing.

Not anymore.

Later, as they had finally rested close together, sated, and closed their eyes, she thought about the future, _their_ future. A future she could see with more clarity; a future she could admit out loud that she wanted. A future she hoped was full of more of whatever it was they had shared that evening. If that was what happened, if that was what she could expect as she turned the page, Chloe never wanted to look back.

///

“Well, this is new.”

Beca can feel Chloe smiling at her innocuous comment. She can feel her eyes on her, looking at her with an emotion Beca isn’t sure she can place. Not before coffee and breakfast, at least.

“That’s… that’s one way of putting it.” Chloe’s response is soft. It’s kind, almost. “New but good, right?”

It strikes Beca as strange that it seems to be Chloe who is asking more questions. She knows it’s not doubt, there wasn’t a moment of doubt between them, but maybe Chloe is more aware of what it means to change. Maybe Chloe, of the two of them, has more experience in that department. Still, Beca reaches out and takes her hand, rubbing her thumb absentmindedly over her skin.

“Of course it’s good. I… I mean, you feel it, right?” Beca knows what she’s trying to say, but she doesn’t have the words. It’s too new, the feeling building within her, to know exactly how to describe it. Instead, she simply hopes that Chloe is feeling the same kind of afterglow-driven emotions that she is; that she isn’t the only one who feels as if the air has shifted around them. Chloe nods slowly and leans in close, letting her head rest on Beca’s shoulder. She lifts her hand slightly, watching the way Beca continues to hold it. Beca pulls it close and presses her lips to her knuckles.

There’s a lightness between them. If she doesn’t hold onto Chloe, if she doesn’t somehow anchor herself, Beca wonders if she would float away. It’s as if she’s shed layer after layer overnight. There’s no secrets, no avoidance, no weight. She doesn’t have to pretend to be happy to see Chloe with someone else or swallow down her tears. Instead, she can be herself. She can be right here, in this bed, with the girl she has wanted to call her own since freshman year, and act on instinct instead of playing amateur psychologist with her emotions.

The freedom is overwhelming. It feels like a melody all of its own. A melody with Chloe’s name on it. The thought pushes a dry laugh from her throat.

“What?”

Beca groans and leans back. The old her would have made something up, would have covered her incessantly happy thoughts with something sarcastic or cutting, some observation or another. The new Beca doesn’t have to. The new Beca doesn’t want to.

Instead, she tells the truth.

“You… you make me want to write songs. Like… about you.”

Chloe’s expression switches to one of childlike excitement in a single moment. She pulls herself up, eyes wide, and grins. “About me? Really?”

Beca feels herself fall even further. It’s pointless to fight. She doesn’t need to. Not anymore. Instead, she shakes her head. “It’s ridiculous how happy I feel right now. How… how happy you make me, Chloe.”

“I think I probably get it better than anyone else.” Chloe’s admission is soft and Beca absorbs it directly into her memory. She watches as the redhead leans back, completely carefree as she lets the sheet drop lower down her chest. “I like it. I… I know it’s corny to admit this after sleeping with someone but it’s you so I don’t care. I can’t help but be honest with you and, well, you’re smiling just like I am so I think you’ll understand.” Her eyes scrunch closed as she turns slightly away. Beca feels a bubble of anticipation before Chloe’s smile spreads across her cheeks, a blush rising on her pale skin. “I can’t believe it finally happened. Like… _finally_!”

In some ways, Beca can’t help but feel like it’s the end of an era. She’s woken up feeling like an entirely new person. She left a version of herself in her dressing room before she took to the stage. She left behind so many parts of herself she had clung like armour for so long, deciding that- finally, _finally-_ she didn’t need it anymore. That it was the night to make a change. And, so, everything else is committed to the past.

After all, if the future feels like _this,_ she’s never looking back.

She just needs to make sure of one more thing.

“Chloe?” She clears her throat, watching with searching eyes as Chloe turns to face her and brushes unruly, mussed curls back from her face. For a moment, the insecurity she had shed seems to be back. It covers her, preparing to protect her if she’s dealt a blow she can’t handle. Her mind quickly lists a number of sarcastic responses; a force of habit, she thinks. “I… I just want to check that this, uh, wasn’t a one time thing for you?”

Beca can almost feel the way Chloe’s eyes bore into her. She can almost feel the stare.

She _can_ feel the soft kiss that is pressed to her rapidly overheating cheek.

“Absolutely not. I… I can’t imagine anything worse than being this close and having to let you go. Not now.”

Beca feels a rush of emotion roll over her as she leans in closer to Chloe. A hand reaches out to rub gently over her back as she feels a tear make its way down her face.

“Please tell me they’re happy tears?”

Beca wipes at her eyes before turning to Chloe and taking her face in her hands. Leaning in, with a press of her trembling lips, she leaves a light and gentle kiss against Chloe’s mouth.

“Happy tears, Chlo,” she confirms, “really fucking happy tears.”

As Chloe leans in and rests her forehead against Beca’s, they both exhale heavily.

It’s as if the last remnants of the old life, their past, have finally gone.

In their place is a new, quiet kind of comfort. It’s new but familiar. Beca knows she isn’t ever going to have to go back to who she was; that this is the beginning of something.

It feels like she’s won a battle she had been fighting in her head and in her heart for so long she’d forgotten how it began.

There’s an easy quiet in the ceasefire.

It’s as if she can finally think.

As Beca registers just how not-apprehensive she is, how anti-climactic their morning has been, how even her emotions don’t feel overwhelming in this new, morning light, she finds the word for it. The word she’s been searching for to explain the settled sensation that surrounds the messy, unmade bed they share. It’s light and carefree and there’s an absence of uncertainty that- less than 12 hours after their first kiss- should probably be more alarming than it is.

It’s peace.

_Finally._


End file.
